Reserved Feelings
by FlintFyre
Summary: Oliver Wood is trying to enjoy his new life after Hogwarts. But what happens when a former classmate shows up unexpectedly and decides to watch the Puddlemere United Reserve team play? Wood/Malfoy. Warnings are in the Author's Note.


**Author's Note:** Alright, this is a one-shot written for those of you who have been reviewing so diligently on my other story 'Love Games'. All of your considerations made me have to fight with myself to actually pick one. So I picked two, and the other will be up whenever I get unstuck on a certain part. Don't fret if your pairing wasn't picked! You still have hope! I would like to thank you all for reviewing so nicely on my other stories, as well as new readers who are just reading this because they want to! Thanks for checking out my shit!

I got about halfway through this and realized I was writing it in first person, heheh... I think my Twilight fics are bleeding over into my HP ones. Oh well, lemme know how it goes. I also had to do a fair amount of research, and even use my copy of 'Quidditch Through the Ages' multiple times. Don't say I never gave you nothin'...

Included in this story is sex between two males, some mild angst, and probably a lot of swearing. And did I say sex?

I give you: Oliver Wood and Draco Malfoy

* * *

><p>"WOOD! IF YOU MISS ANOTHER GOAL I WILL FLY UP THERE AND BEAT YOU SOUNDLY TO DEATH, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"<p>

I cringed from the piercing voice of my captain. Even up here, in the air near the goal posts, his pitch reached deafening levels.

I was doing badly, I'll admit. It was a hard blow to my self-esteem to do so, what with my occasional fits of neurosis already, but it was painfully obvious. I had missed twelve goals in a row, and Cochran and Bently were sniggering at me as they flew erratically around the pitch. Fucking Chasers.

I hated these off days. The days where it seemed like nothing went bloody right for me. All I wanted was to be good at Quidditch, do my father proud, and play the sport I loved. Was it so hard?

Apparently.

"GODDAMMIT WOOD! WHERE'S MY BROOM? WHERE IS IT?"

"I'm sorry!" I wailed, slumping my shoulders while trying to compete with his roar. "I don't know what it is!"

The Puddlemere United Reserve Team. That was my occupation, currently. I was their Keeper, Oliver Wood, and my captain was furious with me at the moment. I braced myself as he finally located his broom, mounted it, and flew up towards me with a murderous look in his eye. His moustache ruffled in an agitated sort of way.

"What's up with you, lad?" he said once he was facing me. We hovered fifty feet in the air, my feet dangling inelegantly in my shame.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong," I said, gaining the courage to look him in the eye. He wasn't as angry as he had been. His face was softer, and he looked actually concerned. But the fury was still there, of course. It never really left, I don't think…

"Well son, you get your head together. We've got a bloody game in two days! How do you ever want to make the full team if you go and act like this, eh?" he said, his whistle swinging round his neck as he gestured wildly.

I nodded firmly. He was right. The Keeper for Puddlemere United was thinking about retiring soon. It was my only chance to get into the real games. To get a shot at the League Cup, to play with the harder players and make myself more known. I didn't mind where I was, of course. Quidditch was Quidditch, in my opinion, and I took whatever position I got with the utmost seriousness no matter what the team. But to actually play in a stadium, on an _official _regulated Ministry-approved pitch, with screaming fans and people begging for autographs? Well…that would be awesome.

"I will, sir. I'll try harder," I said, resolving to push myself as hard as I could. I would practice all night if I had to. So what if I couldn't feel my arse tomorrow?

"Good on you, Wood," he said gruffly, smirking and clapping me on the shoulder. He turned round to fly back to his position in the middle of the pitch and bellowed, "BENTLY! GET YOUR HEAD OUT YOUR ARSE AND SHOOT THE FUCKING GOALS!"

* * *

><p>"Wow Wood, that was quite a turn around," Cochran said, stepping under the warm flow of the showers. He spoke to me over the short wall that separated us between cubicles, taking my body cleansing potion without even asking. We were friends, so I never minded when he did. It was just the fact that he <em>assumed<em> I wouldn't mind...

"Yeah, thanks," I said, leaning back to rinse the suds out of my hair. It was dark brown, almost black from the water now, and probably looked crazy these days for how much I was flying. Combs seemed to defy it, for it would just get all wind-swept again anyways. Practice was my life now. Well, it was technically my job, which meant that it was my life. Yet it was also a dream come true. I actually got _paid _to fly. How cool was that?

"Something happen though? You were doing pretty bad at the start," he said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

I shook my head. "I dunno, Coch. I can't figure it out."

"Been laid recently?" he asked casually, as if we weren't both standing next to each other naked.

"No," I clenched my jaw.

"Maybe that's it."

"I don't think so, mate. That's never affected me before, you know?"

It was actually what had caused me to be better at Quidditch. Being a sexually frustrated teenage boy, in a dorm full of other sexually frustrated teenage boys, and hearing them wanking at night and not being able to tell why _that _made you hard. Being confused and alone, hearing the rough grunts of your schoolmates as they came, wishing that they were with you when they did. Wanting them to touch you like they touched themselves, but knowing that none of them fancied you the way you fancied them. Wanking alone, just like all the others, but feeling even more pitiful because you were different. It certainly brought out some aggressions, which were easily released in my Keeper position on the Gryffindor team. McGonagall had admired my drive for the sport and made me captain, not knowing that me consuming myself so thoroughly with Keeping was helping me not be so pissed off all the time. Don't get me wrong…I love Quidditch. I have sex now and I'm still good at my job, and still completely obsessed of course. That was just one of the factors.

And now, I was going through a bit of a dry spell, what with life getting in the way. But that couldn't have been what was bothering me.

Perhaps it was the fact that I had never told Coch of this. Or anyone else on the team, for that matter. I had eased my guilt by saying that no one had ever asked. There was no need to tell them because they weren't curious, or didn't care, or didn't want to think of me and my sexual relations with others. But deep down I knew the real reason why. I was afraid of what they would think. I was scared that, if they knew, things wouldn't be the same. They could hate me, think I'm disgusting, not want to speak to me anymore. The girls would probably be more accepting, of course, but there might not ever be this casual conversation between me and Coch anymore. He might be afraid of me, or repulsed at my secret.

He rinsed his honey-colored locks free from all the suds, and I stood under the spray one more time just for good measure.

"Well, did anything else happen?"

I shook my head evasively, grabbing my towel from the small hook by the shower. "I mean, I can't think of anything. I eat healthy, took a run this morning, and I was doing fine yesterday…I dunno what it was."

The blond rolled his eyes, then gave me an exasperated look. "That's not what I meant, moron. I mean, like, you break up with your bird or something? You seemed a bit down."

I sighed, busying myself with the towel. I tied it around my waist, avoiding his question, and walked out from the showers. He did the same, padding after me into the changing room.

I had wanted to tell him for so long. All of the team, really. It wasn't my nature to keep secrets like this. I could keep a score level, keep the goal posts in a game, keep the other team from scoring. But I never kept secrets. I was always fairly open about everything because I never really did anything against social norms.

Except one thing.

I fucked guys instead of girls. I had kept it from several people who didn't deserve to be friends with a liar. Someone who was so afraid of their rejection that he hid away a large portion of his life from them.

But that was bullshit. I wasn't going to hide this any longer. There were team regulations and rules for this sort of thing, and everyone knew it. If they didn't accept me, at least I would still have my career. I would still be playing the sport I loved. If these people didn't like me because of my…because of how I was, how I was born, then they could go bugger off and I would fly circles around them. And if they didn't want to be my friend anymore…well…then I would make new ones, and do this all over again until I found someone who accepted me for who I was. I was tired of all this. For years I had avoided the topic, at Hogwarts and now after. But today I was boldly deciding to take this random bout of confidence and just put the bollocks on the table. It had been long enough, and this was certainly an opportunity for me to do so.

I sat on the bench, still not having answered Coch's question. He was looking at me warily now as he rummaged through his locker absently.

"Kevin, I actually don't have a girlfriend," I said, running a hand through my dark hair. "I'm gay, so…"

Coch's eyes got wide as he held his shirt loosely. He had been about to put it on, but my statement made him pause.

"Wow…didn't know that about you, Wood," he said vaguely. He pulled the sleeves of his shirt up his arms slowly, as if in thought. "How come you never said?"

"No one ever asked," I said, shrugging. I didn't want to admit how afraid I was. How dearly I had craved everyone's approval.

"I suppose that's true," he said, giving a light chuckle. He pulled the shirt up over his head, then down his torso as he straightened it out.

"You're not gonna, you know, be all weird now, are you?" I asked warily. He seemed to notice my nervousness, and shook his head, making a face.

"No," he waved a hand. "As long as you're not, like, checking me out or something. You haven't been, have you?"

"No," I lied. What? I was allowed to _look._ "It's not like I 'check everyone out', Coch. Do you eye up every girl you see?" I added for effect.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Arse," I said, throwing a sock at him. Not because he was an arse, but because he had disproved my point. He laughed, dodging it effectively.

Coch was fairly skilled at dodging things. He was rather skinny, and as a Chaser, the Beaters always figured he was the weakest and most likely to get knocked off his broom. As a result, he had taken a fair few Bludgers to the stomach before he caught on to their strategy.

"You haven't to Melinda or Joanne, though, right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Melinda was a slightly burly girl, tall for her age, who had made the team as a Beater two years ago. Jo was another Chaser.

"Well, not _really_," he shrugged, buttoning his trousers. "They're friends…"

I gave him a pointed look, and he seemed to finally catch on.

"Oh yeah," he said cheerily, grinning at me. "Alright then."

* * *

><p>"Bent, look out!" I bellowed, motioning for Bentley to get the fuck out of the way. He swerved just in time, dodging the Bludger that had been sent his way with ferocity from the other team's Beater.<p>

It was turning out to be a vicious game. The other team, the Wigtown Wanderers Reserve, apparently was quite furious about our sixty-point lead at the moment, and the Beaters were getting more aggressive. So were the Chasers, in my own opinion. Each time I blocked a goal from them, the Quaffle seemed to collide against my chest with a bit more force than the last. I would probably have a large round bruise there by tomorrow.

It was quite amusing though. As a Keeper, I never got tired of seeing the outraged face of the other player as I blocked their goal. They would look so confident, as the red ball soared through the air, and then the expression would be wiped away and replaced with a furious glare as I caught it in my outstretched hands or with my own body as a shield. Then I would laugh, and they would fly away, only to repeat the process later again and again until we won.

For we would win today. I could feel it.

But, as I waited patiently for the Quaffle to make its way back over to my end of the pitch, I thought I could feel something else as well. That feeling of being watched, as if you were the direct center of someone's thoughts.

Of course it was ridiculous. Several people were watching me, sitting in the stands. Our Reserve League games never sold nearly as many tickets as the higher up leagues, naturally, but we had a fair amount of watchers. Friends, family, and numerous people out for an afternoon that weren't wealthy enough to attend the more professional games. We were the youth of the sport, but not as young as those still in school. It was an unclear middle ground, in a way. The stands reminded me of Hogwarts, too, in number and size. Perhaps that was why I always felt so at home here.

I scanned the crowd, knowing that I was probably just being paranoid. No one was probably even paying attention to me. Their eyes were most likely fixed on the fight that had started in the middle of the pitch, and the referee who was currently zooming towards them to break it up. Jo was quite fiery when she wanted to be…

But my eyes caught sight of a shock of platinum blonde hair that seemed vaguely familiar. It was a lot brighter Coch's, so that wasn't where I was drawing from…

From what I could see, he was looking at me. He must know me too, confirming my suspicions. My eyes flitted over to check the game, making the sure the Quaffle hadn't changed position, and I saw our Seeker, Mainsly, circling above, taking advantage of the pause in the game to try and find the Snitch, probably…

It all clicked into place after that thought. I looked back at the blond, realizing that he was that creepy Malfoy guy who had _also _been a Seeker. Harry had always complained about him, and I was bloody able to tell why. He was a _Slytherin_, first off. From what I could remember, he was the rich little snob who had bought his way into Flint's idiotic good graces by supplying the entire team with new brooms. And in game he wasn't very fair. I could have sworn a few times seeing obvious fouls that Madame Hooch missed, fouls against my star player. The bloke was still a bit skilled as a Seeker, though, despite his obvious need to cheat. No one could beat my Harry…

I sighed fondly and turned back to the game, making sure to keep up my duties. Possession had changed again, according to the announcer, so I had to pay close attention. Sure enough, the opposing team closed in to my goals, trying yet again to gain some points. The Chaser zoomed toward me, her ponytail flapping behind her in the wind. As she glared at me with determination, raising the Quaffle in her hand to strike, I saw her feigning to the left.

I smirked.

* * *

><p>"Wow Wood, good on you, mate," Bent said, punching me in the arm.<p>

"You too," I said, nodding to him and grinning. We had been victorious, as we rightly should have, with a score of two-hundred-and-thirty to twenty. We were planning to celebrate this evening with what was sure to be copious amounts of drinking.

We all laughed and pushed each other, filing into the changing rooms to take showers and make plans. As the boys went into their section of the showers, we all stripped down and immediately began washing the mud from any skin that had been unfortunate enough to be exposed. As I passed a naked Mainsly, I congratulated him on catching the Snitch and continued on to the cubicle between Bently and Cochran.

"Party at Chochy's place!" Bent announced, raising his bare arms and finishing with a loud "Whooooooooooooo!"

Cochran was the only one who had an actual house, and not a flat like the rest of us. Too many drunk wizards in a small place was never a good idea.

"Oi, I just had my arm broken and repaired in three places," Coch said snarkily, cradling the appendage slightly as he washed himself. He had been hit with a Bludger. Again. "I plan on getting quite drunk and not having to clean up all the mess you lot usually make, thank you very much."

"Okay then…party at the Silver Dragon!" Bently changed course, raising his arms again. "Whoooooooooooo!"

"It closed down last week," I reminded him, checking my bare stomach for bruises. "Due to some sort of fire. Probably because of the dragon, actually…I never thought it was a good idea to keep that thing there, but they claimed it was tame enough…"

"Well then where do we go?" Bent whined, his shoulders sagging dramatically.

"What about that new place?" Mainsly chipped in, turning to us briefly. "What was it? The Something Owl?"

"The Tawny Owl," Bently said, snapping his fingers in recognition. "Yeah! I haven't been there yet!"

"Which is saying something…" I muttered, making Cochran stifle a laugh.

"It's a bit…I dunno…'refined', though," Mainsly said flatly, putting air quotes up as he spoke.

"Yeah, I heard it's for like, rich people and stuff," Coch added.

Mainsly shook his head. "Not really expensive or anything. I just don't know how they'll handle us all being arse over tit in their pub."

"Well, one way to find out," Bent said mischievously. "I mean, it _is _a pub. What else are they for?"

"Sounds good to me," I said, laughing.

We all agreed on the Tawny Owl and finished showering. If all else failed, we would at least make arses of ourselves, which always made for a good night regardless.

* * *

><p>"Oi Coch, Coch! Do the thing!" Bently said, nearly slopping his own mead down the front of his robes. He made a shooing motion at Cochran and I nodded eagerly.<p>

He shook his head, chuckling. "No. There's _people_."

"All the more reason," I slurred, leaning in expectantly.

We were all pissed. I was on yet another ale, the number of which I couldn't even remember. When I started forgetting, that was when the real party started. The team was gathered in the Tawny Owl, on which the girls had agreed after we consulted them about it. The team captain, Mr. Fudley, had told us not to drink too much of course, but then gave us a wink, which usually canceled his orders and gave us silent permission to do whatever the bloody hell we wanted. That way he didn't have to say it and lose his credit of being a tough, angry, and easily annoyed form of authority.

Melinda and Joanne were over in the corner, being chatted up by two men that looked extremely hopeful. Mel was looking rather impressed, and was wearing her pretty smile. Jo had a flat look, as if she would either need more effort from the bloke, or a few more drinks. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mainsly laughing hysterically, a pint clutched in one hand and the other holding his wand. Our other Beater, Markson, had apparently just spilled his own pint, and Mainsly was siphoning it away for him. Probably because he looked far too drunk to do it himself.

"Come on, do the thiiiiing!" Bently whined, drawing out the last word to make his point. The more alcohol that was in his system, the more whiny he got when he didn't get his way.

"UGH, fine," Coch said irritably, setting his glass on the bar. Bent and I watched eagerly, turning on our stools to get a proper look.

Coch screwed up his face, as if he were concentrating very hard. For a moment, he just sat there with his eyes closed, looking stupid. But suddenly, his hair turned from its normal shade of blonde to a fluorescent pink, and he opened his eyes.

Bent and I roared with laughter, and Coch reluctantly chuckled at the attention.

One day, after I had been on the team for a few months, I had noticed that Cochran's eyes had flashed a different color during a conversation. He had been furious at the other team for using the Parkin's Pincer maneuver against him, giving him no choice but to drop the Quaffle as he was nearly knocked off his broom. He had been in a full blown rant when his eyes suddenly switched from their usual blue to a fiery red that was quite unnatural, and then back again. When I asked him about it, after recovering from a near heart attack, he merely said that he was something called a Metamorphmagus. I hadn't ever heard of one, for they were extremely rare, so naturally I had questioned him on it a great deal. Bently had overheard us talking, and had been slightly outraged that we hadn't been told sooner. Coch had gotten so tired of our endless questions that he simply closed his eyes, huffed out an annoyed breath, and turned his own hair bright blue right there in the middle of the changing room.

The color differed each time he did it, but he always preferred to keep it blond when on or around the pitch, so as to not draw attention to himself from the other players. He already got enough trouble as it were, and he claimed he didn't need any more.

As our laughter died down, we turned back to our drinks. Coch apparently decided to leave his hair pink, because it didn't change back. I wasn't exactly sure how he expected to get laid tonight with _that_, but perhaps he would use it as an icebreaker…

Bently launched into a story then, which I didn't have the energy for, so I let my mind wander and figured Coch would take up my slack. I could feel the pleasant warming of the alcohol coursing through my veins. It was a nice night to get drunk. Well, any night was when you came from Edinburgh, but tonight especially. There was no practice tomorrow, it wasn't raining or some shit, and we were all together and having a great time.

But then my eyes fell on him, and I stared, confused.

It was that Malfoy bloke again. He was sitting across the room with a pint in his hand, alone but otherwise aristocratic in appearance. His silvery eyes flitted away from me when my brown ones made contact with him, so he must have been looking at me already. Just like on the pitch. What was his _deal_?

I studied him closer, trying to figure out why he was here of all places. It was summer, yeah, but shouldn't he be ready to go back to Hogwarts soon? How old _was _he, even? His blond hair shone in the low light of the torches on the wall as I looked him up and down. It was so bright, almost as unnatural as Coch's pink shade right now. His skin was a bit paler than most folk around here, but his cheeks were a bit pink, probably due to the alcohol. I wondered if he was celebrating our victory as well. Though, why he would be supporting us when I had before been the captain of his rival team at school was beyond me. Plus, wasn't his family pretty well off? Couldn't he afford to watch the full team instead of us _reserve_ players?

"Oi, d'you remember that bloke over there?" I said to Coch, pointing over to Malfoy.

"No."

"He was at the game. I used to go to school with him, but he was an arse," I said, not entirely sure why I was bringing it all up. "He played for the Slytherin team and I'm pretty sure his dad was some shady bloke or something – "

"Mate, I can barely understand you. You know how your accent gets after a few," Coch said flatly, slurring a bit himself. "You're all…Scottish. Just slow down a bit."

"He went to school with me," I said exasperatedly, slowing down to an ungodly rate of speech. "At Hogwarts."

"Then go say _hello_," he said, smirking at me in a knowing way.

"Fuckin' bastard," I replied, chuckling.

But apparently my choice to not go over and subject myself to a Slytherin didn't matter. Malfoy must have seen my gesturing towards him, because he got up and made a beeline for the bar. Where I was sitting.

"Oh _fuck_, mate, he's coming over," Coch said, clearly trying not to laugh hysterically.

"Shut up," I hissed, taking another healthy swig of my pint. God, what the hell could he want? Well, I figured I was drunk enough for a fight if need be.

He sat next to me, drawing heavily from his glass. He then looked up at me, seeming almost nervous before he spoke. I assumed it was my burly stature. It intimidated some people, but it came with the job. And having to constantly be tensing your shoulder muscles for ten years.

"You're Wood, right?" he said in a smooth, clear voice. It wasn't what I expected, having witnessed his taunting of other students on a few other occasions. I expected more of a sneering, immature tone. I knew that I was older than him, for by the time he came around, I was associating with the higher-year students and staying out of the affairs of the younger ones. Except Harry, of course, who was somewhat required for me to have a bit of insight into. That, in turn, was probably why I knew this guy, come to think of it. I usually grouped all the Slytherins together as one big, ugly, stupid troll. Only his face and Flint's are the ones I remembered.

But I couldn't help notice how…attractive he was. It was horrible of me, yes. I must be, what, four years older than him? But with his rather tall, lean body and his smoothly sculpted facial features, I began to feel a bit hot under the collar of my robes, though it may have somewhat had to do with the alcohol. He didn't look as young as he should have. He had the eyes of someone who had seen way too much for his time already. The same as Harry. The same as all of us, lately.

"Yeah," I said, nodding and taking another drink. "You're Malfoy?"

"Yes," he said, fiddling with the glass in his hands. "I er…I saw you play."

"Oh, yeah, I saw you in the stands," I nodded again, turning to him. He seemed civilized enough _now_. Perhaps I wouldn't have to kick his arse after all. "How come you're here, anyways? Isn't Hogwarts starting soon?"

"Yes," he said, looking away. Almost as if he were ashamed. "Just wanted to…to get out of the house, for a while. Before…before term."

"You need another drink?" I asked, brandishing towards his almost empty glass.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise. He looked down at his glass, then back up at me.

"For…me?" he asked slowly.

I laughed. I knew that he probably wasn't of age yet. He was probably sixteen, and in all the 'magical' pubs they had loose guidelines for you to be seventeen before they would sell any to you. I say loose, because there was no way for them to really tell unless you had your Apparating license, which many wizards didn't even bother with. Plus, Malfoy looked old enough anyways. I doubted that they would even ask. Still though, I didn't want him to get into trouble.

Ugh. Looking out for a Slytherin. I would have been beaten by my old team if they ever found out. But this wasn't Quidditch. This was drinking, and in it, everyone played nice. Well, usually.

"Yeah, for you," I said, still chuckling.

He smiled slightly and nodded, looking away. If I didn't know any better, I would say he was…shy. A far stretch from the stories _I _had heard, that was for sure.

"Er…thanks," he said, scratching the back of his head. His fingers carded through silky blonde strands, and I cleared my throat.

It was terrible, but I wanted to feel it between my own fingers.

I mentally slapped myself, pushing the inappropriate thoughts away. What, now that Coch knew my secret, I was free to fuck all the blokes that took my fancy? Not on. Especially one so young and probably not even gay like myself. He was just some kid who liked Quidditch, probably like me. He didn't deserve to have some former classmate drooling over him like this, no matter how much of a prat he may be at school.

"So, do you follow the league, or are you just going to one game, or what?" I asked, trying to distract myself with conversation. I gestured to Flekley, the bartender, so that he would bring Malfoy another drink on my tab. I think I was becoming his favorite customer, due to how much I had ordered tonight. Well, it wasn't like I had anything else to spend it on, anyways…

"Just the one game, so far," he said, dropping his hand to the side. His grey eyes flitted over to me, and then down at his glass. "I might…er…I might visit some other games though. I like seeing your team play."

"Why?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. I didn't think we had any really defining characteristics. We didn't have any signature moves or anything…

He shrugged, still looking down at the bar. "I dunno. Just like watching you play."

"Well thanks," I said, confused.

"So er…do you have a girlfriend?" he blurted, looking immediately embarrassed after he spoke.

I blinked. What the hell was this kid on about?

"Er…no," I said, recovering slowly. "I er…" I debated whether I should tell him. I had sort of resolved to tell people now. So should I stick to close friends and family, or just start blathering it off to everyone? "I'm gay, so I wouldn't."

Apparently the latter.

"Oh," he said, though he didn't look surprised at all. He almost looked…happy. "Well then, a boyfriend?"

"No," I said, shaking my head and laughing. He was sort of funny.

Dangerous feelings here.

He smirked a bit, accepting the drink that was set in front of him. He raised it in thanks to me and took a swig.

"What about you?" I asked after he had swallowed. "You got a bird back at Hogwarts?"

Malfoy looked over and bit his lower lip in thought, which I desperately tried not to notice. He smirked again and shook his head, looking a great deal more confident than when he had first sat down.

"No. I have the er…same circumstances as yourself," he said, taking another sip of his drink.

I stared back at him.

What the hell did that mean? Was he saying that he was like me in _all_ ways, or that he just didn't have a girlfriend? Was he giving me some sort of signal here? God, if I hadn't been so engrossed in Quidditch all my life, I maybe could have honed some skills in flirting or something of the like. I had no idea how to tell with all this…

"Flint always used to talk about you, you know," he said before I could fabricate a decent question. I guess I wasn't to know what he had intended.

"I'm sure he did," I said bitterly. Flint wasn't in my top ten list of favorite people, that was certain. He cheated, always tried to break my fingers in the pre-game handshake, and was an ugly fucker to boot.

"He always said that you were a pouf," Malfoy said, chuckling.

"Did he now?" I muttered, clenching my jaw and gripping my pint with a bit more force than necessary.

I was regretting buying him the drink.

"Yeah. But I mean, he never knew _I _was, so I think he was just being an arse…" the boy finished.

Well, that answered my question pretty soundly. I relaxed, realizing that he wasn't taunting me, but probably trying to connect on some level. It was weird for a Slytherin…

Well, inter-house unity and all that.

"Oi, what's your name, anyway?" I asked, realizing that I didn't even know his first name properly. I supposed we were sort of friends now. For the moment, at least.

"Draco," he said, taking another drink from his glass. "Yours is Oliver, right?"

"Er, yeah." Great, now I felt like an arse.

"Well Oliver, glad to meet you proper," he said, offering his free hand.

I took it and we shook, laughing at the formality. God, it was hot in here…

"Oi Wood," Cochran said over my shoulder. "We're all gonna go to the Niffler's Den down the street, because the food here is arse. You coming?"

"Yeah sure," I said, downing the rest of my pint quickly. I was a bit starving, even if I was fairly drunk as well.

I looked back at Malfoy to see him looking a bit disappointed.

"Well, I'll see you maybe at your next game," he said in a level voice.

"Oh, well," I hesitated, knowing that I was definitely playing with fire now. "You can come along if you want…

Screw it. I was too drunk to reason anyways.

His face immediately brightened, despite how much he was obviously trying to hide it.

"Yeah, okay," he said, taking a long sip from his drink. It was only half finished, but he stood anyways.

I reached into my pocket, rummaging around inside the pouch there for a few Galleons to cover my hefty bill. When I felt about four, I slapped them down between our glasses and wave to Flekley to make sure he saw them. Then we hurried out the door after the others, who were already heading down the street.

"So like, why do you always play Keeper?" Draco asked, walking beside me.

I shrugged, putting my hands in my pockets against the cold. "I dunno. I guess I like it, and it's what I do best."

"You just always seemed to have more of a beaters build," he added. His cheeks darkened slightly, but why I didn't know. Perhaps he was cold too.

"Yeah, that's what the captain said," I replied, frowning a bit. "I dunno. My aim with the clubs has never been very good. Plus, the Bludgers don't seem to like me too much."

We both chuckled slightly, and finally caught up with the others.

"Oi Coch!" I said, punching his arm. Draco looked at me, alarmed. "Show Draco the thing!"

"Are you mad?" he said, turning to face me. "What are you – oh, hi," he added sheepishly, realizing Malfoy was standing next to me.

"Hi," he said back nervously.

"I want to see the thing again too," Bent chipped in from behind them.

"Ugh, you two," he said. Cochran closed his eyes and screwed up his face again. His hair suddenly changed from pink to green, causing all of us to laugh loudly again.

"Wow, you're a Metamorphmagus," Malfoy said, sounding impressed.

"And the fact that you know what that is must mean you know one already," Coch said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, my cousin is one," he said simply.

"Small world," Coch clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm starting to like this guy already!"

We continued our journey, talking and laughing and sometimes even singing. It was a lot of action for only two blocks. But as I looked over at Draco, who was smiling again, I realized that he hadn't really smiled any of the other times I had seen him around the school. Mind, I hadn't noticed it that much before, but the expression looked so foreign on his face. It showed his straight, white teeth and he had the tiniest hint of dimples, as well…

Clearing my throat, again, I followed everyone into the restaurant and we all pushed two tables together so that we could sit down as a group. The team, plus Draco, were all starving, and probably quite a bit noisy too. Everyone was tossed.

"Who's a bloke got to fuck to get some food round here!" Markson slurred, earning roars of laughter from the rest of us. He chuckled as well, but managed to hold it together enough to flag down one of the workers.

Then we all ordered, which was quite an adventure.

"I'll have the lin…lingueeeee…"

"Linguini, Bent," I offered for him, and he gestured toward me.

"Yeah, that."

Everyone else managed to slur their orders in an acceptable way, and the woman walked off, muttering to herself. We all sniggered, drinking our glasses of water until the alcohol got here. Yes, there was going to be more.

Draco leaned over to me then, and whispered right next to my ear. It sent a shiver down my spine. "So you're telling me that your name's Wood…his name is Coch…and _his _name is Bent?" he asked incredulously.

I laughed, running a hand through my hair.

"Caught on to that, have you?" I asked, and he nodded. "Well, yeah. I figured, if I had to have a name that people taunt me for, then they do too. That's actually Kevin Cochran, and that's Andrew Bentley. Most people call them Kev and Andy, but…well, you know," I said, taking another sip of water.

"Coch and Bent," Draco said flatly, staring at them both.

We all laughed and joked around as the evening wore on. Draco looked slightly out of place, sitting at a table with seven fully grown semi-professional Quidditch players, but he was getting less nervous-looking as the clock ticked on. We drank when the drinks came. We ate when the food did as well. We talked, laughed, punched and roughhoused, just like any other victory celebration. The more and more we all loosened up, however, the closer Draco seemed to gravitate towards me. But I wasn't blind anymore. I could see what was happening.

He fancied me.

I knew that I fancied him as well. Hell, just the look of his flushed, pink cheeks from how drunk we all were made me imagine unclean things about him. I knew that my cock ached for him. For his hand. For his mouth. For his arse.

Whatever it could get.

But it was so wrong of me. He was young. He couldn't see me, if we even did have sex, if I was even reading his signs right. I'm not saying I've never had a one-nighter before. Hell, I've had more than I would care to admit. One I think even involved two other people, for god's sake. But with him being so young, the leap of four years seemed greater than it actually was. I mean, my _parents_ were four years apart. But fifty-six and fifty-two didn't seem quite as scary as twenty and _sixteen_.

I felt slim fingers on my thigh then, and panicked.

Unless Coch was touching me, which I highly doubted, it had to be Draco. _He_ was making the move. Wasn't I the older one here? The decision-maker?

"Do you live round here?" he whispered to me. I felt his lips actually touch my ear this time, instead of his cool breath ghosting over me.

No one was watching, but I'm sure I was a bit more red than I had been already. His hand on me, moving closer up my leg to a very important spot, was making me highly aroused. It was now or never. Either tell him it wasn't right, or accept the obvious mutual desire here.

If only he were a year older. It would be so much easier to do this. He would be an adult, and I wouldn't have the guilt of having slept with an underage wizard on my conscience. But he was the more persistent one. He was the one taking the risk here. I knew he wasn't a victim, that he wasn't being coaxed into it by me. I hadn't put any pressure on him tonight to make him think that I wanted him to do this. I hadn't even approached him first…

"Yeah," I said in a somewhat strangled voice. "A few blocks away."

* * *

><p>I closed the door and felt his hands on me at once. The keys clanked on the table as I tossed them wildly, not really caring if they made it there or not.<p>

His lips were on mine already, the first time this evening despite his obvious desire to do it sooner. We had left the dinner early, Coch giving me another knowing grin, and walked pleasantly to my flat down the street and around the corner. Light conversation had been sprinkled with a few topics here and there. Nothing awkward, either. But once I had stepped inside, and his mouth was on mine, a sort of frenzy started and I wasn't quite sure when it was going to stop.

I groaned, feeling his tongue work against mine as we snogged brutally. His arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me close to him. He was only a few inches shorter, not by much, which was always a good thing when it came to snogging. I reached around him, grasping his arse, making him grunt slightly as he was lifted.

Somehow, I made it to the bedroom without falling. I had no idea where I was going, and I was also carrying someone who wasn't the lightest person in the world. But we flopped down safely, still connected by the mouth, and he moaned, no doubt knowing where this was leading.

I gripped his waist and pushed him more fully onto the bed. My cock was aching at the moment, straining desperately against my jeans for a way out. It was certainly liking the attention from the boy before me, who was sucking around my tongue and making me nearly weak with in the process. He was certainly experienced…

Unable to stand it anymore, I fumbled with his belt, trying to get his trousers off as quickly as possible. When the buckle and buttons and all else was done, I slid them down to free his equally hard erection. It had been a fair month since I had seen one last, aside from my own, that is. I took him in hand and he moaned, tossing his head to the side. The sight was incredibly sexy…

"Fuck," I muttered, leaning down and nipping at his neck. He had soft skin for a bloke, but I wasn't complaining…

He reached up and pulled on the back of my everyday robes, which rarely got any use compared to my Quidditch ones. It was only nights like this, when we all went out or those rare occasions I went out alone to find someone, that I ended up wearing them. But whenever I brought someone back, they always ended up on the floor. Like now.

Draco threw them across the room, landing who-the-fuck-cares-where, and then moved onto my shirt. He yanked it up over my head, leaving me in only my athletic briefs. Luckily, I had worn black ones, so I didn't feel quite so idiotic. For some reason, wearing stark white pants during sex made me feel a bit…well, like a dork. Not that I would be wearing them for long anyways…

I reached up to his shirt and quickly undid the buttons. Many blokes told me I had nimble fingers. All after various uses for them were demonstrated.

But when I began to pull it off, he clutched at the fabric tightly, stopping my movements. His eyes were wide, and a bit afraid.

Oh no.

"What's the matter?" I asked quickly, wondering if he was having second thoughts. If I was overstepping my boundaries now, of if he had just realized what he was doing.

"I don't…can…can I leave it on?" he asked hesitantly.

"The shirt?" I asked, and he nodded. "Why?"

"I have…I have scars, and I don't like them…" he said, looking away from me. "I know it's stupid, but can I just leave it on?"

"It's not stupid," I said, shaking my head. "I won't take it off if you don't want me to."

He breathed a sigh of relief. They must have been really bad, but perhaps we would save that for morning talk, or when we both weren't so hard.

"Are you okay with everything else?" I asked, wanting to make sure this was what he wanted.

"Yeah," he nodded eagerly, reaching up to my neck and pulling me down. "I want it…"

His hand pushed into my underwear, confirming his statement as it wrapped around my stiff cock. I exhaled shakily, leaning down and kissing him again. His tongue worked back into my mouth, and the pause was swiftly forgotten.

I groaned, feeling his hand squeezing around me, pulling on my erection with each firm stroke. I ran my hands down his back, under the shirt, not feeling any bumps from scars that were there. Perhaps they were on his arms instead, which would have made sense. He was wearing long sleeves. My hands wandered to his front, where they slid lower towards his own hard-on that I had previously abandoned. I grasped him firmly and started reciprocating his actions, while also feeling around blindly for my nightstand beside the bed.

Finally, I found the drawer, pulled it open, and removed the small bottle of lubricant I always had there. If it wasn't used for sex, I was usually using it for wanking. Probably because of the lack of sex. It was a vicious cycle, but either way, I was paying for it monthly with awkward trips to Diagon Alley…

I opened it and immediately poured some in my palm, setting the bottle back on the table for possible later use. I stroked myself with it a few times to get myself slick enough, when a thought occurred to me.

"Er…are you wanting to top, or what?" I asked, having just assumed beforehand.

He blushed, looking up at me.

"Erm…I've never…I haven't done this before."

"You mean you're a virgin?" I asked sharply.

"Yes."

"Oh noooooo," I groaned, burying my face in the crook of his neck. I was a horrible person.

Not only was I fully taking advantage of the affections of a sixteen-year-old, but I was his first ever sexual partner. This was certainly signing my ticket to hell with a silver quill.

"It's fine," he said, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Just…you know…be gentle and stuff."

"And stuff. Right," I said, sighing and propping myself up over him.

I supposed that maybe it was a bit better for him, though, as stupid and horrible as it sounded. I was one of the few blokes who would probably bother being gentle with him. Others might tend to…take advantage of his virginal state in less pleasant ways. That, or they may be as inexperienced as him, and end up hurting him unintentionally. Either way, he had to be careful when selecting someone to be his first, and…well…maybe that was what he had done tonight. Maybe I was the best option he had.

"You sure you want to do this?" I asked hesitantly. "I honestly won't get angry or anything if you want to back out."

"Your accent is hot," he said breathlessly, and crashed his mouth to mine. Apparently that was as good an answer as I would get.

I reached between us, my hand still slick, and in between his legs. He sighed against my neck as I teased my middle finger around his entrance, trying to get him used to the feeling. It felt good here, of course, but I had to be careful from now on or I was going to hate myself. I didn't want to hurt him…

I pushed slowly, kissing him again to try and distract him. He snogged back, our tongues twining, and didn't seem to have much of a reaction at the intrusion, which was good. I moved it in and out a bit, taking my time despite my erection telling me to get the fuck on with it.

"Is that okay?" I whispered, nibbling his lip after another kiss.

He nodded, breathing heavily. "Yeah…"

I buried my face in the crook of his neck again to hold onto my sanity. I pushed a second finger inside. God, he was so tight. I felt slightly guilty at the excitement that rushed through me. He had never been touched here before. I was the first that would have my cock inside him, and his arse would be the tightest I had ever felt. I groaned at the same time he did, for he was no doubt feeling the stretch more insistently now. But I couldn't wait…

I rutted against him slightly, my cock rejoicing in the feeling of both of ours sliding together. He moaned as I did this, which only excited me more. I continued thrusting my hips, not too hard to be painful, but enough to foreshadow what was going to happen between us. As I did, his breathing became quicker, and his grip in my hair tightened. His breaths came in short gasps next to my ear, tickling me and sending shivers down my spine. All the while my fingers pumped slowly into him, loosening him for me.

I wasn't usually overconfident, but I was aware of my own size. Other guys had told me that I had a big cock. Bigger than normal. Then they would laugh, what with my given surname and all, and say that they should have seen it coming. With Draco, I had to stretch him out fairly well if this was his first time, especially with me. Perhaps I wasn't the best candidate after all…

I looked down at him as he began to writhe slightly. His body was a lot slighter than my own, but I could feel his hard muscle beneath me. Thinner, but still lean and fit in all the right places. His shoulders, his toned arms, his tight chest and tense abdominals. He was all b0y, and he was perfect.

"God, you look so hot," I said, meeting his grey eyes with my brown ones. He moaned, reaching up to suck at a spot on my neck. When his teeth made contact, I knew there would be a mark tomorrow, but I liked it a bit rough anyways.

They weren't as cold as one would imagine, his eyes. Being grey, it gave the impression of ruthlessness that people said the Malfoys had carried on for decades. But as I stared into them up close, looking deep in their silvery depths, they sparkled in a way that was both mischievous and…well, happy. For the time being. Perhaps before he hadn't been very happy, but next to his pink cheeks and plump lips, they were radiant and bright.

He was sort of like an angel, I guess. The bright blond hair, the smooth skin, the thin facial features, and the shining silvery eyes. He gave all the radiance that suggested he was a person of magic. Highly in contrast with my own dark features. Dark brown hair. Dark brown eyes. Tan skin. Heavy muscles. Yet somehow, we just seemed to work together.

He whined as I wiggled in a third finger, but made no move to push me away. I slowly worked them inside him, getting him used to the feeling of this. Of having an intrusion in your body. For once your body accepted it, it certainly turned things around…

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, a little breathless.

"No," he whimpered, gripping my hair tightly again. Both hands were buried in my thick strands, but I didn't stop him. I liked how he tugged on it every so often, and how he breathed heavily against my ear with each thrust of my fingers.

I made the 'come hither' motion with my fingers, searching for the spot that would make it a bit easier on him. I would know when I found it…

"Oh!" he gasped, his back arching slightly.

I smirked, despite myself. I continued to rub the small spot, which I could now feel with at least some recognition, and he began moaning loudly. A lot more frequently that before, as well.

I pushed my hips against his again, trying to find at least something that would hold me off until I was finally able to enter him. He convulsed slightly against me, his hands gripping my hair, and his legs coming up to tuck at my sides, trapping me between them. Our cocks slid together, slick from the lube I had already put on myself. He was whining more insistently, tugging my hair roughly.

Taking a deep breath, I added a fourth finger. Perhaps it was a lot, but it wouldn't hurt to be safe…

"Mph," he said, his noise muffled by my shoulder. He had dropped his forehead to it in discomfort, which gave me a small pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry," I whispered against his platinum hair. "I have to stretch you out. It'll get better, but we can stop if you want to."

He shook his head stubbornly. I sighed, working my fingers in further, and then finally pulled my hand back slowly to release them.

He gave a quiet sigh of relief, looking up at me expectantly. His wide, innocent eyes sparkled, and it didn't escape my notice how they drifted down to roam freely over my naked body. I smirked slightly, enjoying the attention.

"Are you ready?" I asked, reaching for the lubricant again. A lot of it had come off onto him when I had gotten…overenthusiastic.

"Yeah," he said, nodding.

I took the bottle and spread some on myself again, making sure I was slick enough. Perhaps too much, but one could never be too careful…

I set it back and looked down at him. He had a hungry look on his face.

Leaning down and nipping at his ear, I whispered "how do you want it?"

His breath hitched, and I saw his hands clutch the blankets.

"You want it from behind, so I can see the tight arse I'm fucking?" I continued, grinning mischievously. "Or from the front, so I can watch you come?"

He looked up at me ravenously.

"Or you could be on top," I added as an afterthought, shrugging. Perhaps, since it was his first time, he would want to have more control.

"Behind," he said breathlessly, blushing in a very attractive way.

My cock ached.

"Okay," I said, grinning. He was a bit naughtier than I thought…

I took his arms and rolled him over so that he was lying on his stomach. He moaned, bracing himself up on his hands, spreading his knees out wide for me. His firm arse was presented to me in the most delicious of ways. It was glistening in the low light from the lube that had been on my hands as I fingered him, and the way his back arched made it clear that he was as eager for this as I was. His shirt, which covered his shoulders and arms still, was riding up so that I could see a generous expanse of smooth, pale flesh along his spine. I put a hand on his back to let him know I was there, and moved in behind him.

"You have to relax," I said quietly, grabbing the base of my cock to center myself.

I saw the back of his blond head nod, and placed myself right at his arse. Slowly, I pushed forward, feeling the tightness around the head of my cock as I first entered him.

He stiffened, his hands clutching the blankets below. I could tell he was having trouble relaxing fully, which I knew from personal experience was easier said than done. I squeezed the side of his arse as a silent reminder, and saw his shoulders loosen slightly at my touch. I continued to push forward, slowly but surely, judging his reactions. I couldn't see his face, though, so I had to go merely by sound and feel. Finally, my hips met flush with his arse, my cock screaming at me to hurry up with all this.

"Uh," Draco whimpered, his arms stiffening again as they held him up.

I pushed down on his spine gently to make him arch his back again, putting all his weight on his hands and knees. He looked so good like that, his shoulders rising and falling with his labored breaths, the dip in his back pushing his arse out for me, and the back of his blond head, hair all ruffled from me running my hands through it. My mouth practically watered as I took in the fuckable young male before me. His arse was so tight around my cock, it nearly brought me to tears. Never touched, never used by anybody. It was horrible, and I felt like some nasty predator as I looked him over greedily, but I couldn't help myself. I would make this first time one that he would never be able to forget…

I reached around, grazing over his smooth skin, over his thigh, and finally to his own erection. I ran my fingers through short blond curls, so soft compared to other men, before I took him in hand again.

He squirmed, his head dropping forward, and let out a low moan. I leaned over him and put my hand next to his on the bed in order to brace myself.

"Do you want me to touch you?" I whispered against his ear, pulling out slightly as I spoke. He grunted.

"Yes," he said shakily.

I squeezed his hardness, pulling slowly up his length as I thrust lightly into him. He shook, hunching his shoulders. I continued slowly, getting him used to the feeling, making sure he would be able to handle all of this. If he was hurting too much, I would have to stop this and tell him to go home. That he wasn't ready, and that he should wait for someone his own age. But, despite my morals, I desperately hoped that wouldn't be the case.

His soft moans told me he wasn't particularly hating it…

"You look so good," I said, hearing the hungry tone to my own voice. I knew I was enjoying this too much, but how could I not? It was sex. And sex with a very attractive young man, who was willingly giving himself to me…

"Uhh…" he sighed, turning his head to the side towards my face. His cheek was touching my lips, and my tongue darted out to taste him. "Don't stop…"

I moved my hand more firmly along his length, hearing the need laced in his words. He was hunching slightly, his shoulders raised in defense, but I could tell it was from the feelings I was sending through him. The odd combination of discomfort and pleasure from behind, mixed with the stroking of his cock. I knew the feeling only too well. But I also knew that it soon got better.

"I won't," I said, grinning. "I'll fuck you as long as you want. You don't have to ask me twice."

He chuckled slightly, his hands loosening their grip on the blankets. My hips thrust a bit harder, going deeper inside him, letting him feel all of me. I went slowly, but firmly, easing into a consistent rhythm. My cock rejoiced. The tight heat surrounding it was so wonderful that I wondered how on Earth I had gone without sex for so long. What the fuck was wrong with me?

He moaned, writhing slightly beneath me as my hand pumped him faster. He pushed back against me, begging me for more.

"You like that?" I asked breathlessly, nipping at the shell of his ear.

"Yeah," he whined, thrusting back onto my cock as I pushed forward. His taut little arse bounced from the force, sending a thrill up my spine. I leaned up a bit to get a better view, placing my left hand on his hip to steady him. I watched my cock disappear into him as my hips pounded a bit more roughly. The plump cheeks around me, so firm yet soft when I squeezed them, quivered with each thrust I gave. His pleasured whimpers turned to moans, which then turned to cries as I started aiming for his prostate. In the direction of his bellybutton, which was usually how I judged where to look for it.

"Oh!" he cried, arching his back again and gripping the pillow before him. He dropped to his elbows, and I pushed his hips down too, causing him to lie somewhat flat. I paused only briefly enough to position my knees outside of his own, giving myself better leverage, and then continued at a more brutal pace. I knew he was loose enough now, which allowed me to get more…creative. I could tell he appreciated it.

He moaned, his slim fingers giving my linens quite a run. He clutched at the pillow, clawed at the blankets, and even bit the poor sheets to try and muffle his own sounds. I pulled his head back by the hair, making him drop them.

"I want to hear you," I panted, giving his cock another slow squeeze. His breath caught and I released his hair again, moving my hand back to hold onto his arse. Feeling it tense beneath my fingers as I fucked him senseless was too good, I didn't want to miss out on it.

Holding him still, I circled my hips, burying myself deep inside him again. He cried, then gasped. I would have laughed if it weren't so arousing. I did it again, loving the sound of his voice when it was so desperate and incoherent.

"Oh! God," he moaned, dropping his head to the pillow. His cheek was pressed against it, and I could see his grey eyes squinting shut in his pleasure.

I bit my lower lip, fending off my orgasm. I pounded harder, which didn't really help on my end, but I hoped that it would bring him his release soon. I wanted him to come before me, remember his first time as being with someone who wasn't a selfish arse. Who gave him everything that was good and wonderful about sex, and make him not afraid of being with another man like I had been. My hand on his cock sped up, squeezing roughly against the shaft. I placed bites along the side of his neck, feeling that smooth, sensitive skin between my teeth. I groaned, feeling him tense around me deliciously.

"Uh! I'm – I'm – "

"I know," I whispered against his skin. "It's okay, just come when you need to."

He gripped the sheets again, panting wildly. His hips thrust back against mine, meeting each push with vigor. His head raised up, falling back and exposing his neck as he cried out.

I grunted, feeling his arse tighten around me again. He writhed, moaning breathlessly as he came, his hips bucking helplessly against me. I thrust into him hard, hitting that magical spot and stroking him firmly through it all. His cum flooded over my hand, hot and thick and all over the blankets. They would no doubt need washing, but couldn't give even half of a fuck.

"Oh yeah," I breathed, feeling him relax beneath me, completely spent. But I wasn't done with him yet.

I held his arse with both hands now and pounded into him hard, breathing roughly against his skin, clenching my eyes shut. I could feel that pressure in my groin, in my stomach. His hand reached up and grabbed a fistful of my hair, tugging it slightly and making me moan. He apparently knew what I liked as well.

I grunted as I reached my climax, warm seed bursting forth, gushing into that incredibly tight space that my cock was currently occupying. I pumped into him hard, losing my rhythm as my thought clouded over with mind-numbing pleasure. One time wouldn't be enough with him. I was coming hard, and I planned to do it again soon.

When I finally regained control of my limbs, I slowed, bracing myself against the bed so as to not crush him to death with my weight. I pulled back slowly, steadying my softening cock so that it could slip out of him easily. He winced slightly, but otherwise didn't move.

Which worried me.

"Er…you okay?" I said, still straddling his back. I reached up, pushing his blond hair out of his eyes. They were half-lidded and tired-looking, but I saw a shy smirk on his lips.

"Yeah," he said, looking away and blushing. His cheeks were already tinted pink from our 'activities', but now they were nearing Gryffindor pride levels.

"You look hot when you blush," I said, chuckling. It only made him blush harder.

I sat up straight, slapped his arse briskly, and stood from the bed to try and find my wand. I figured I should clean us up, considering the mess we had made…enjoying each other. Fucking, and whatnot. I was tired, yeah, but I practiced Quidditch for three hours a day, and exercised another two on my own most days. I was used to it.

Finding it in the corner across the room, I picked up my wand and headed back over to the bed. On the way, I picked up my pants as well and slipped them on. I never fancied walking around with my dick swinging about, even if we had just gone at it like rabbits. But I didn't want to fully dress either. The clothes probably wouldn't stay on for long if I did.

When I looked up, I saw he was pulling his own on as well, nearly making me hard again with his ruffled ensemble of an open shirt and tousled blond hair. I reached out and stopped him, however, and he looked up at me, confused.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"_Tergeo!"_ I muttered, pointing my wand at his stomach. The cum that had been smeared there from his orgasm was siphoned away. He looked up at me, grinning.

"Thanks."

"No problem," I said, shrugging. I repeated the spell on the bed as he pulled his boxers onto their proper place, and then everything was back to normal.

I flopped onto the bed, lying on my front, feeling incredibly lazy. Draco stood there, looking uncomfortable, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Do you want to stay the night?" I asked, realizing that I hadn't really clarified anything with him.

His expression softened and he tried not to look gleeful again. He failed miserably, though.

"Yeah," he said, sitting down next to me at once. "If that's okay…"

I snorted. "I'm not an arse. You think I would just fuck you and kick you out?"

He shrugged, sighing contentedly. I saw his shoulders relax. I also saw with guilt that I had accidentally given him a few love bites, but he didn't need to know that now…

Draco lay back next to me, though facing the ceiling, as we both tried to calm down from our previous exertion. I was attempting to get up the will to go and make something food-wise. Fucking a virgin took a lot out of you, and he was probably hungry as well. His growling stomach confirmed that fact, and I laughed as he smiled sheepishly. His hand reached up to run through his light hair, the cuffed sleeve of his shirt riding up along his arm.

And that was when I saw it.

"What – what is that?" I asked, my eyes widening.

Draco's blond eyebrows drew together in confusion. His grey eyes, which had been looking at me, now followed my own line of vision to his left arm. His mouth fell open.

"It's not – " he started, sounding panicked.

"Like hell it's not!" I shouted, pushing up quickly and standing from the bed. He got up too, looking at me pleadingly.

"No, Oliver – "

"Don't call me that!" I snapped. "You – you used, me, didn't you? For a little Death Eater experiment, eh? Or are you trying to recruit me? Is that it?"

"No," he shook his head, holding his hands up in defense. "I – I really wanted to! I wanted to do all this!"

"Liar!" I yelled, running my hands through my own hair.

I had been played. He was a Death Eater. A follower of You-Know-Who. He hadn't liked me, or ever thought that I was worth anything. He had probably just used me for sex. Hell, I bet he wasn't even a virgin.

I was mortified. All that care…all the thought I had put into his safety, and it was me who was probably most in danger. I had walked him through it, put his needs before my own, taken care not to hurt him in any way, and all the while I was fucking a Death Eater and I didn't even know it. There had been no embarrassing scars for his shirt to cover up. Just the hideous mark of evil etched into his skin.

"Oliver, please, I really did like it," he said. Tears welled up in his eyes, but they never fell.

"Get out," I said, looking away from his face. Even when he cried, he looked handsome.

"Don't," he pleaded.

"I won't tell anybody. Just get out," I said, still staring at the floor.

I heard a sniffle, a rustling of clothes, and the click of the front door. When I looked up, he was gone.


End file.
